The Funeral
by TiredRaven
Summary: Luna Lovegood goes to a funeral and stuggles to come to terms with her internal pain, loss, loyalty, and, most of all, love. Oneshot.


Luna sat stoically at the funeral. She would not cry. Nothing would make her cry. Not this boy, not this funeral, not this speech, not anything. She hated feeling these emotions. She hated them more than anything. This was why she had turned to her land of dreams and her unreal reality. Because of pain like this.

She would not cry. She would live in a dream world. She would go on like she had before, ignoring the pain, ignoring the problems, living in a world where The Quibbler printed the truth and she had never loved anyone.

Especially not him.

She had not loved him.

Hermione Granger got up to speak. Luna did not listen. If anyone could make her cry about his loss, it was Hermione. She had known him better than almost anyone, except for Luna herself. And she would not speak at his funeral. If she spoke, she was admitting he was dead. She was admitting he was gone. She was admitting she loved him, that she missed him, that she _wanted _him. If she spoke, she would cry. As long as she lived, she would never cry again. Crying solved nothing; it only rekindled her incredible pain.

She would not speak, she would not listen, and she would not—could not—love. She did not love him. She never had.

Harry got up to speak. She listened in spite of herself. He said that he was very brave—braver than any of them had realized. Of course, they realized this after he was dead. She had realized that years before they had. Of course he was brave. But more than that, he was loving. He loved them more than they ever loved him. It was typical. They appreciated it when he was gone; very, very gone.

No. No. He was not gone! She would not admit that he was gone.

"He was the bravest of the brave, in life and especially in death. In death, he surpassed the bravest of the brave. He was the very definition of brave. We are all forever in his debt. Because of his death today, there is hope for tomorrow. I hope his family is proud of him. They should be. He deserves their praise more than anything. He deserves to be loved in his death, because he was not loved nearly enough in his life."

Bloody right he wasn't loved enough in his life. She knew that better than Harry did. She knew it well. Because….

No. She had not loved him. She did not love him. She would not love him.

His uncle got up to speak. She was interested. What would his uncle who barely knew him say about him in his death?

He said that they had loved him. They had not loved him. They had scorned him. She, now, she had—no. No she hadn't. She had not loved him.

"We are so proud of him, so very proud. Nothing could have prepared me for the way he went out. Who expected that? I always thought he would go out due to natural causes, in the night, years before I did. I suppose I was wrong. I suppose now he is a greater man than me; a greater man than I will ever be. And I accept that."

No he didn't. He did not accept it. He would never accept that he had gone out in a blaze of glory; he would never accept that his nephew was a greater wizard—a greater man—than he was.

Never.

She? She did. She knew it, and she had known it all along. She knew he would go out like this, loved and on top. She had known it for a long time because…

No. She had not known. She had thought, she had guessed. It had been wild and not based on anything. Especially not love, because she had never loved him.

Professor McGonagall got up next. Out of all the people who came to his funeral, she was the most surprised about her. She went on to say how she had never understood him until his death. At least she was honest.

"I never really liked him much. Wasn't very good at anything that I saw. But he was kind. He was kind and brave and true—the truest friend I had ever seen. He stood by people who would never have stood by him. He loved them and he trusted them more than anything. From his trust comes and everlasting bond that I hope you will never forget. He has left us, and for it we are all sorry, and perhaps all in our own way slightly broken. But, above all, we must remember that he would have given anything for us. And he did. For us and our cause, he gave the last thing he could, perhaps the only thing he could. He gave us his life—the truest gift anyone can give. And no matter what happens in the rest of the war and no matter what happens after, I hope we can all remember what he sacrificed for us. It is the most important thing we can remember about him. He went out brave, loyal, and on top. More than anything, I would like us to remember that."

Luna felt tears stinging her eyes, but she would not let them fall. She would not acknowledge that they were there. The dull sting; the dull pain of acid on unprotected eyes, it was nothing to acknowledge. It was there now, but it wouldn't be soon. Because she didn't love him and she never had. She would never cry for someone she didn't love.

A tear fell onto her cheek.

All fell silent. No one else knew what to say but Luna, and she would not speak. She would not admit what she was feeling, because if she admitted it to these people, she would have to admit it to herself. She was not ready to admit it.

"Rest in peace," she heard the pastor say. She looked up and finally let her tears fall. First they were silent and steady, plopping onto her cheeks like a sad rain. But they got heavier and more frequent. Soon it was not silent sadness, soon it was sniffling. And sniffling turned into something else.

People began to stand to pay their final respects, and Luna stood, too. She went up to where she would speak. And she would speak. Because she was ready to admit it—she was ready to love, she was ready to lose.

She was ready to live.

Everyone sat back down and looked at her. Hardly anybody recognized her, and if they did, they recognized her as 'Loony Lovegood.' She did not care. She never had. She composed herself and took a deep breath, not hiding her tears but at the same time wishing they weren't present. She took a deep breath and looked out over the group. It was a strange group, full of people who she didn't know and was sure he hadn't known in his life. It was filled with professors who had not liked him, friends who did not remember him, family that did not love him. But as she stood, ready to say one of the only true things she had ever said, she realized that she was here for him. He had only wanted one person to love him, and she did.

She loved him more than anything. She always had, and no matter what, she always—_always_—would.

At first, she had no idea what to say. She just let her blonde hair fall behind her, blowing in the sad wind that was here to bid him farewell. Her wonderfully alive hazel eyes looked over the group again, and again she realized how much she loved him. Even years later, she was not sure where it came from, but it came.

"Harry—you're right. You of everyone was right. He deserved so much more than he got in life. And here we are, giving it to him in death.

"It doesn't seem right. He was unbelievably sweet, loyal to a fault, quiet and shier than anyone—but still we all knew him. Still he made an imprint on out lives. And a large imprint at that. His mark is not one that will be forgotten, it is one that will be remembered and respected far past our own time. It is a mark that he deserved, perhaps in life more than in death.

"But his death was more than any of you realize. His death proved something more than that. It proved that after all these years, after years of being a coward, an outsider, it proved that he was more than just a boy. He proved, once and for all, that he really _was _his parents' son. He was not a fluke, he was not a freak mishap, he was their son. The son that they would be proud of. I hope he knows that. It's one of the only things he ever wanted, the love, respect, and acceptance of his family. His parents would have accepted him either way, but I suppose his family was a different story.

"More than anything, he deserved for his family to love him, to be proud of him. And they weren't. They haven't been for a long time. They say they are now, but they aren't. No matter what he did in his life, no matter how beautifully he went out in the end, he will never be good enough. He deserved to be love and not just in death, in life. His never loved him because he could never live up to the legacy that was his parents. But he was braver in life than any you know—braver than any of us know. None of us know what he went through, because he told no one. Not even the people who he trusted the most.

"I hope, like Professor McGonagall, that we remember what he gave us. He gave us everything he could, and he knew he was going to. He thought he was not a good wizard. He did not think he would survive through the final battle. Perhaps it was those thoughts that were his downfall. Perhaps it was the fact that no matter what I told him, he refused to believe in himself. He refused to believe that he had something to contribute to the world, to the wizarding community. He absolutely refused. But he was wrong. Even without his death, he would have contributed. Because there was no better person in the world than he. And I highly doubt there ever will be.

"I have one last thing to say. I had only loved one person in my life, my mother. She was everything to me. When she died, I died with her. I threw myself into imaginary worlds where my Mum was still alive, where the lies my father wrote were true, where anything that I wanted became reality. And I quickly found it was safer there. Until I met him. He brought me out of my dream world, to a place that was much more harsh, but much more rewarding. I am forever in his debt.

"As my final goodbye, I have only one thing to say. Neville Longbottom, I love you. More than anything else in the world, I love you. In your death, you are the most important thing in my life. I have never loved anyone like I love you, and I doubt I will ever love anyone like this again. My only regret in life is that I did not tell you this sooner. And I suppose I will regret it forever," Luna said. Tears were flowing down her face freely. She stopped and looked around, tear-stained cheeks glinting in the warm sun. A breeze kissed her face and she smiled.

It was Neville. She knew it was Neville. For that breeze, for her first kiss, she loved him more than she had before.

"I love you, Neville. And I will miss you more than anything. Goodbye," she stepped away and laid a lily on his grave. Her tears fell and she did not stop them.

Because she loved him.


End file.
